Bring your own sun
by alirodina
Summary: It's not about completing someone, but complementing them. Sirius Black is a social worker and Remus Lupin writes erotic stories. Non-magical AU. Rated for language and mentions of drug abuse.


**Title:** Bring Your Own Sun  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC 17 for language  
><strong>Pairing(s):<strong> Remus/Sirius, James/Lily, mentions of Remus/Tonks, Peter/ various OC  
><strong>Summary:<strong> It's not about completing someone, but complementing them.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Swearing, cigarette-smoking, alcohol-guzzling, drugs-using boys.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 9,414  
><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> This is the first time I dropped the 'f-bomb' in the actual narration as well as dialogue, and actually I'm not sure if it all ties together. I hope, anonymous person whose prompt I picked, that you're not too disappointed!

~o~

Sirius unzipped the boy's rucksack, eyes darting towards the half-inch of space between the door and its frame to see if anyone was passing through the hallway. The situation tugged at the cynical corners of his mouth, the old and empty lines, 'It's for their own good', 'The end justifies the means', flitting across his mind like advertisements seen through the windows of a moving bus. But the kid had been too quiet, too close with himself, and there used to be a time when Sirius had the energy to wait for them to mellow out, make them trust him. It wasn't that he had stopped caring, just got more impatient through the years, when it started feeling like he was doing no-one any good at all. James Potter always said that Sirius was the type to dig out the seeds he had just planted to check on how his garden was growing. Sirius reckoned he might be; he didn't do gardening.

His search of the kid's bag revealed a couple of shirts, the inevitable denim trousers regalia-ed with safety pins, rips and biro scribbles (song lyrics, cries for help, who knew what else), underpants. Sirius ignored the lot. The kid's sartorial taste none of his business, and anyway, he was no one to talk with the fraying cuffs of his coat and thinning knees of his trousers. Deeper in the rucksack, and his fingers came in contact with tickets to the cinema, hotel matchbooks, a pack of cigarettes, and a book. Sirius took note of the hotel names printed on the matchbooks, wondering idly how the kid had come by them, since he looked like he could barely afford a meal at the McDonald's. The hotels were mostly three-star ones, and maybe the kid just liked hanging around with the people who worked in such places, but Sirius thought he'd investigate the matter more closely anyway.

The book he was more reluctant to examine. The front cover had been ripped off, the whole thing carefully sellotaped together, someone's name (not the kid's) written in a slanting hand on the top of the first page. Books revealed a lot about people, not just about the writers themselves, who were all mental exhibitionists once you thought about it, but the people who read them as well. Much can be learned about the type of books certain people liked to read, sometimes too much, and Sirius felt guilty, although he knew it was ridiculous to feel a belated rush of morality now, with the bag and its contests spilled all over his desk, and him looking at the mess as if he could read the kid's future there.

Sirius looked at the back of the book, meaningless blurbs, praising the author's vision or whatever, the stark and lyrical prose. He turned to the first page:

'They were best friends, Nigel and Marina, growing up together, the curves and angles of their bodies fitting together in an awkward puzzle. When they were old enough, people around them started to talk, whispers that they didn't mind because he knew where she started and she knew where he ended. Love between them was easy, unsaid, taken for granted, precious. There was room inside their hearts, room for a kiss and holding hands in the dark. They fit together perfectly. They were not for each other.

'When they turned fifteen, Marina started going out with a boy. He was tall, all sharp angles and chubby cheeks, shy eyes. He liked listening to music by himself, mouthing the words, tapping the beat with his fingertips on his knees. He also liked pulling at her hair, tugging at her earlobes, kissing the juncture of her neck and jaw.

'"He's nice," Nigel told her.

'She nodded. She had noticed the way Nigel looked at her boyfriend, the way his eyes lit up and darkened at the same time, that blank and hopeless compulsion to look. Her boyfriend, nestled in the room inside her heart, safe and indifferent, saw no one but her.

'"You can fuck him in front of me, if you want," she said.

'Nigel stepped away from her, as if she had hit him. The dark look in his eyes passed, came back, settled.

'"No," he said, at last. He did not deny anything, ashamed, but defiant. She looked at Nigel's spare body, slender hips and hard muscles, and she looked at her own soft, rounded, weak body. He could have been her boyfriend's twin. She hated him, suddenly. And she was glad for the pain in his eyes, and her hatred reflected there.

'She thought, we fit together perfectly. And then, should I say I'm sorry?

'Nigel shrugged. He knew what she wanted to say. He didn't want to hear it.'

'I'd like to have it back, please.'

Sirius looked up from the book to the pinched, peaky face of the kid, pale eyes wavering at him from behind a watery fringe. 'Sorry.'

The kid took the book from Sirius, gently, but firmly. He started re-packing his things with the set look of someone who had been through all this before, someone who had only the most passing acquaintance with privacy. Sirius cleared his throat.

'Will he do it?' he asked, before he could catch himself.

The kid looked up. 'Excuse me?' Words too polite, trace of a posh accent. And of course, Sirius would know about that.

'Will Nigel do it?' Sirius said.

The kid smiled briefly. 'Why don't you find out for yourself?'

~o~

Which was how Sirius found himself dropping by a used bookstore on the way to the Leaky Cauldron, where James and the rest were waiting, probably getting started on their lager marathon for the night already. And here he was, looking for some book he'd probably forget in the tube before he can read to the middle.

_All the Lonely Souls_, there it was, along with other books of erotic stories. That made him almost put the book back on the shelf and leave, memories of reading Anaïs Nin and feeling like he had eaten a pound of butter afterwards, longing for the sharp asceticism of Conan Doyle, Chesterton, and the like. But he had liked the author's name, Reynard Foxglove, the obvious conceit that it was, and he bought the book finally, mildly grateful that it fitted into the pocket of his coat.

'You're late,' James said, as soon as Sirius sat down next to him in the pub. 'Which is why this round's your shout.'

'I'm skint,' said Sirius.

'Useless sod,' said Remus, who was sitting across the table from Sirius. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils all but swallowing the pale tea colour of the irises. A cigarette burned almost to the filter between his fingers, forgotten in the prospect of a free drink. 'What's the point of having rich uncles, then?'

'Rich, unmarried uncles who could pop their clogs any time,' added Peter, from somewhere behind Remus. He had a bird with him; large blonde hair and leather jacket. For a moment, Sirius thought she looked familiar. But a lot of the kids at St Mungo looked like that, and Peter always had an adventurous taste in girls.

'I'm not begging off from Alphard,' Sirius said, taking away the cigarette from Remus before he burned his fingers. 'You ask the family for a favour and they own you for life. I'm through with all that shit.'

'Alphard's all right,' said James.

'He's a faggot,' said Peter, flatly.

'You're just bitter he won't look twice at your arse,' said Remus. He had a caustic tongue, masked by a mild tone and a calm demeanour that often left people wondering if he was being sarcastic or not. Sirius, who was used to it, laughed softly.

'Didn't know you were one of the activist types,' said Peter. 'Probably go to gay prides and fuck-all.'

Remus shrugged. 'I don't need a silly bint to make me feel like a man.' Sirius could almost read Remus's mind add, A silly bint with hair straight from a box and shiny chrome lips.

Sensing trouble belatedly, James stood up and waved his empty glass in the air. 'Who wants another?'

'I'm on,' said Peter. 'If Sirius is paying.'

'All right, all right,' said Sirius, handing James a sheaf of notes. 'You get 'em, then, I'm not your fag.'

Remus snorted. 'Welcome back to public school.'

'Says the shiny-cheeked prefect,' said Sirius, giving James a slap on the arse as the latter stood up to get their drinks. There was a mild scuffle (only one glass was broken), until Remus said, 'Sit down, Sirius,' and everything went back to normal. Or as normal as things could be, with one randy mate, and another one high as a kite sitting there in front of Sirius. He suddenly felt like a towering monument of respectability.

'Someone got more O-levels, if I remember correctly,' said Peter, as a sort of peace offering. Remus smiled, and Sirius had the sudden urge to smash Peter's skull against the tabletop.

'How about you Peter,' the girl, who had been silent until that point, decided it was time to make a conversational gambit. 'What did you do at school?'

'Can't be arsed to swot, can he?' said Sirius, sweetly poisonous. 'With him always paying visits to the hospital wing.'

'Matron was a bit of a looker,' agreed Remus, reminiscently. Matron Pomfrey had been a favourite among the boys at Hogwarts, and there were fewer complaints about being made to stay the night in the hospital wing than was usual in your average public school.

'Years ago,' Sirius said. 'I always thought she'd been shagging Hagrid in that shed of his.'

'At least I wasn't drooling over some professor,' said Peter. He was being more defensive than Sirius could remember, probably in an attempt to impress his date, who was looking both bored and mystified by this barrage of childhood memories. ''Darling Minerva' with her summer blouses.'

'Ha,' said Remus, who just had to be brimming full of nostalgia that night. 'That got more than his grades up.'

Sirius leaned back and kicked Remus's shin under the table. 'Sod off.'

James arrived before Remus could do more than give Sirius the finger, and the rest of the night went spiralling downwards from that moment. Sirius could vaguely remember Peter's date giving him a rather sloppy kiss on the mouth, which he returned half-heartedly until Remus accidentally spilled his drink over them both. Peter was somewhat miffed, but was too used to his dates making a pass at Sirius not to be magnanimous about it.

'He won't shag you, you know,' he tells the persistent ones. 'He has this thing about germs.'

Peter's blonde didn't mind getting drenched, and Sirius was just beginning to like her when Tom the barman muscled his way from behind the counter to kick them all out of his pub. James was all for carrying on at a different place, but Remus said he still had work the next day.

'Just me and Sirius, then, yeah?' said James, breathing alcoholic fumes at Sirius's face. ''Cause Peter here's gonna be busy with something else in a moment.' Broad wink in the general direction of Peter, although it was more of Remus's feet.

'I'll take you home,' said Sirius, to Remus. 'I brought the bike over.'

'We'll get killed,' said Remus. 'You can't even count in a straight line, and you think you can ride a bike?'

'I think I can manage,' said Sirius. 'C'mon.'

James snorted. 'Big girl's blouses,' he said, _sotto voce_. 'Both of you.'

''Bye, James.' Remus laughed, leaned against Sirius and made gagging sounds. Sirius tried to edge away surreptitiously.

''M gonna call Lily and shag,' said James, thickly. 'More than I can say for both of you wankers.'

'This might come as a surprise to you James,' said Remus. 'But I actually have a girlfriend.'

'Who, Tonks?' Peter laughed. 'Doesn't she have a cock down there?'

'Fuck you, Peter.'

'Swear she was with Emmeline Vance before she started going out with you,' said James, who brightened at the thought.

'Well,' said Sirius, trying to ease the tension. 'Vance got ripped apart by a bunch of punks, yeah? So Tonks can go out with whomever she wants now.'

'Whomever,' Remus said, with plummy accents and a sneer.

'Fuck you too, Remus.'

'Shut up and take me home.'

~o~

Remus was kissing Sirius before he could even close the door, pushing him against the wall with fingers that bit at Sirius's shoulders even through several layers of clothing. There was a thud, which could have been Sirius's skull hitting the plastered walls or a much hated framed Watteau falling down the threadbare carpet. Seeing as how Tonks was the only one who liked Watteau, and Sirius was too pissed to feel pain, no harm was done.

But then there was that name, humming a low warning from the very moment Sirius had dragged Remus into his own flat, just after he had been sick all over next door's mat. Escalating to a wailing klaxon now with Remus rubbing himself all over Sirius's front: Tonks.

Tonks, the cute girlfriend with pink hair that stood up all over in spikes, inevitable leather jacket, and metals studs. Ripped denim and pink bubblegum and Sirius's fucking _cousin_, if you will. Sirius found himself floundering in an unexpected pocket of sober clarity in a sea of alcohol and randiness.

'No,' he grunted, pushing Remus away from his neck. He felt the warm trickle of Remus's spit as it trailed down to his collar, the air cool against his skin as it dried. 'Fuck, Remus.'

'What?' Remus snapped.

'How's Tonks, Lupin?' said Sirius, viciously, a hurt animal striking back. He winced inwardly as soon as he had said it, but was still too angry to apologise.

Remus looked at him blankly for several seconds before bursting into raucous laughter. Sirius wondered vaguely why the neighbours haven't called the cops in yet. Or maybe they were just waiting for the right time; tomorrow morning, for instance. Most likely before Sirius and Remus had taken tea, and their heads would throbbingly echo the loud knocks on the door, dry cotton in their mouths preventing them from defending themselves against all the whinging.

Sirius caught his train of thought before it derailed completely. He was not going to stay the night. The idea was laughable. Tonks lived there with Remus, for fuck's sake, and was probably going to kick the door open any time now, arriving late from some concert.

'Sirius?' Remus's voice, soft and still a bit breathless, pulled Sirius from his increasingly bleak imaginings.

'I think I should go,' said Sirius.

'No, stay.' Remus sighed, ran a hand through his hair. They did not meet each others' eyes, but the atmosphere in the room was more tired than awkward. There was still a residual morass of sexual tension and hurt, like tea leaves in a drained cup, but then again, there always had been. They were used to it. 'Tonks won't be coming back. Perhaps never.'

'You could have asked her to take the Watteau with her,' said Sirius, stupidly.

Remus laughed again, more naturally this time. 'Sit down, I'll make some tea.'

They did not talk until they were sitting down the kitchen table across each other, steaming cups of tea in front of them, and Remus pouring a generous amount of honey in his. The silence was companionable enough, considering they had been pushing their respective tongues down each other's throats minutes before. James had caught them at it back in school, and Remus had said, all wide-eyed innocence, 'Well, he had _his_ tongue in my mouth, and it was getting crowded in there, so I did likewise'.

The memory of it made Sirius chuckle softly, the sound seeming to reassure Remus, who smiled at him without asking what the joke was.

'What happened?' said Sirius, although he had a pretty good idea. He didn't have to be a rocket scientist to figure it out, what with the dilated pupils and the scars he noticed on Remus's arms when he had taken off his coat earlier in the Leaky Cauldron.

'It's not as bad as that,' said Remus, guessing correctly at Sirius's thoughts. 'It's not like I can afford much of a habit, anyway.'

'And she left you because of that?' said Sirius. He did not push the matter. Remus was old enough to take care of himself, and he wasn't stupid. None of them had been pillars of society back in their school days, and Sirius himself was ready to try anything that came his way even now. On the other hand, the matter must have been more serious than Remus was letting on for him and Tonks to have had a row about it. 'I'd have thought Tonks was tougher than that. Give her some credit, Lupin.'

'She's 19, for fuck's sake, Sirius,' said Remus, mildly. 'She's better off without some junkie boyfriend who works the tables at some Greek restaurant.'

'What about your work for the music magazines?'

Remus shrugged. 'Street cred doesn't pay the rent.'

'So you threw her out?' Sirius laughed without much humour. 'You right bastard.'

'She deserves better,' said Remus. 'Her mother certainly thought so.'

'Bollocks. Andromeda ran away with someone her mum thought "inappropriate" herself. It's not as if she's in any position to throw stones.' Sirius shrugged. 'And Ted Tonks's a decent enough bloke.'

'I gather he's never shot coke up his arm before,' said Remus, drily. 'Forget it, Sirius. The whole deal's fucked from the start. They're the poster family for respectability, and despite all her bravado, Tonks isn't really cut out for this kind of life.'

'What, living in this grot-hole?' said Sirius. 'I don't know, Remus. I'm from the same family, and I'm doing just fine.'

Remus shrugged and didn't say anything, but Sirius knew his friend thought he was talking out of his arse anyway. Andromeda was as different from Sirius's mother as water from cyanide. For one, she would never have kicked Tonks out of the house at fifteen just because she wore her hair in 'such a shameful way' or listened to David Bowie. Sirius himself didn't mind being disowned, since he rarely went home if he could help it anyway, but it wasn't so easy to support oneself at such a young age. He stayed over at the Potter's place during the hols and the Potters treated him like their own son, but there was such a thing as being too much of a leech.

'Well, if you think I'll be happy with Tonks's leavings, think again,' said Sirius. 'I deserve better than you.'

His reflexes were fast enough that Remus's cup only hit his shoulder when Remus was clearly aiming for his face. The lot landed on the floor beside Sirius's chair, miraculously intact. 'Fuck, Lupin!'

'Don't be daft,' said Remus, amiably. 'Let's go to sleep.'

~o~

Sirius woke up to the extreme close-up of mustard-coloured wallpaper on which someone had written the words "ten-tonne weight" in green crayon. He moved his face back a bit, saw that the words were part of a poem, or a bit of song lyric:

'The sun shines through the windows  
>and pierces me like a thousand knives.<br>My life is a ten-tonne weight  
>pulling me down.<p>

'I eat screaming for breakfast  
>swallow you every night.<br>You are my life  
>and it is pulling me down.'<p>

Soft tug at his scalp, and Sirius smiled blearily up at Remus, who was absently braiding Sirius's hair. 'Whazzat, then?'

'I didn't know you read trash like these.' Remus held something out, and by the look on his face, Sirius expected it to be something terrible, Enoch Powell's diary or something, instead it was that book, _All the Lonely Souls_, in all its pulp glory. 'This shit will rot your brains right out.'

'If I survived reading Nin, Lupin, I can read anything.' Sirius frowned. 'What time is it?' He could guess that it was very late or very early, even though Remus had the lights on and there were no windows in the room. The streets outside were too quiet.

''Round three AM,' said Remus.

'Bloody three AM,' said Sirius. The bed creaked when he turned back to the wall-poem, away from Remus. He slept.

~o~

When Sirius woke up at a godlier hour in the morning, he found Remus curled up in sleep next to him. Sirius allowed himself an indulgent little smile at Remus's stupid sleep-face before looking for Remus's slippers and getting his arse out of bed and into the kitchen.

'That's breakfast?' said Remus, blinking and dishevelled, several minutes later.

'Yes.'

'I think I'm going to be sick.'

'Alka-Seltzer on the bedside table.'

Remus drifted away, sound of the water running in the loo, and came back looking less green. 'What's for breakfast then?'

'Toast and porridge.' Sirius ignored the gagging sounds. 'When was the last time anyone cooked in this kitchen, Remus?' Porridge was hardly the pinnacle of culinary art, but it seemed as if even that was beyond Remus's (and Tonks's) skills. Sirius found the pot eventually from under all the dust and Weetabix packets, but only after cursing a third of Remus's family tree.

Remus noticed Sirius glaring at the cereal, and said, defensively, 'They used to have free Dr Who strips.'

'Spare me the Whovian shit, Lupin.' Sirius handed the porridge and a glass of water to Remus. 'Aren't you going to be late for work?'

'Fuck work. I survived an encounter with crème de menthe and green Chartreuse; I deserve a lie-in for that.' Remus ate with surprising appetite for someone who was suffering from hellish hangover, but then again, he was never as delicate as he looked.

'Won't you get sacked?' said Sirius. 'At least call in sick.'

'Been "sick" twice this month already. It's not like they believe me.'

'Want to go with me to St Mungo's?' Sirius offered.

'And rub elbows with younger versions of you and me?' Remus laughed through a mouthful of food. It was curious, Sirius thought, that he should be so attracted to someone who had no table manners to speak of. 'I'll come over at lunch. We can have some chips and lager, yeah?'

'When are we going to have dinner with the parents yet?'

'When you've gotten yourself a haircut and a place at your dad's firm,' Remus said. 'Get us some tea, will you.'

Sirius carried tea and toast to the table and began applying himself to the jam jar.

'Why don't you skivvy off work too,' said Remus, licking crumbs from his fingers. Sirius glared, although half-heartedly. The problem was that Remus had the most elegant hands. Tracery of veins against the pale skin, long tapered fingers that were callused from writing, typing, the occasional guitar playing. None of that excused him from all that lip-smacking and finger-licking, but he did look good doing them. Sirius took a deep, steadying breath. His brain had stopped doing the thinking a while back and he forced his stomach to perform the function instead. Certainly, it was one step up from his priorities.

'We can go to the cinema,' Remus was still talking. The nerve of him. Sirius found himself drifting in and out of the thread of conversation.

'What's up with you?' Sirius looked at Remus carefully. 'Remus the Rebellious, who'd have thought.'

'It's a nice day,' said Remus. The slice of sky the windows afforded Sirius was overcast, but as it was not raining yet, some stretch of definition might allow some niceness to the day. Sirius let this pass without comment.

After a moment of silence, Remus said, 'Where did you get that book, Sirius?'

'What book?' said Sirius, and then, 'Hold on, that book in my pocket? _Lonely Souls_ or some such.'

'That's the one,' said Remus.

'The store, of course. You didn't think I lifted it from somewhere, I hope.'

'No. I-what made you buy it in the first place? You hate that sort of thing.'

'Well, there's not much sense in it. Smut is smut, I think sex is something that people should do more than read about.'

Remus smiled. 'There speaks a man who's never had bad sex in his life.'

'And what does that mean?' said Sirius. 'That all those erotic stories only ever tell about good sex? Literature is a slice of life, isn't it? Or a distortion of one. Doesn't seem like much of a slice if it's all about good pussy, or eager cocks. I'm saying is, what's the point?'

'You said it yourself,' Remus said, gamely enough. His was not a bad mind, and only a spot of trouble at Hogwarts has ever ruined his bid for Cambridge. Sirius still felt bad about that sometimes, even though Remus had assured him (more than once) that it didn't matter. He'd never really thought he was going anyway. It was just something he could tell people when they asked him about the future. Now that there was no more Cambridge to talk about, Sirius wondered what Remus would say, when asked. Of course, present circumstances ensured that no-one would even bother.

Remus recalled Sirius's attention by tapping one finger against the tabletop. 'Literature is a distorted slice of life, maybe. And that life, what is it without sex? It all started with that, desire, fulfilment; messy, horrible, scary as hell, but in its own way, bloody brilliant. How can you ignore that, or think it immoral, or worse, as you do, inconsequential.'

'And the bad sex?'

'What about murder, jealousy, rage, name it. All the great literary works have one or the other. Shakespeare? All that and more. Rodin: To the artist, there is never anything ugly in nature. It's only his job to make other people see in the same way.'

'By masking the ugly with pretty words, covering it all with a veneer of philosophical import?'

Remus shrugged. 'Distortion.'

Sirius blinked. 'I hate it when you quote me back to myself like that.'

'It's healthy to eat your own words, once in a while.'

'Sod off.' The clock in the hall, an ornate affair that was without doubt Tonks's doing (Remus would never have bothered), struck the time, and Sirius jumped out of his chair. 'You've made me late for work, Lupin!'

Remus smiled prettily. 'Did I?'

~o~

They lazed away what was left of the morning in the flat. Sirius, ignoring disapproving looks from Remus, took up _All the Lonely Souls_ again and began reading. Remus put on Pink Floyd's _The Wall_ and began writing in a small notebook. Sirius had a peek when Remus had gone to the loo, and learned that Remus knew short hand. Most disappointing, but typical. Remus kept a lot of things secret, important or otherwise, because of some idea about privacy. He liked Sirius because Sirius knew how to keep up a façade of not caring, even while snooping.

'I'm hungry,' said Remus, when he got back.

'This bloke here,' said Sirius, half-admiringly, to his book. 'Let his best friend watch him fuck her boyfriend. She asked him to do it. You think Tonks ever wanted to see us at it, yeah?'

Remus blushed. 'She doesn't know about that.'

'Why not?' Trace of whine in Sirius's tone, Remus would take it as a show, something Sirius did to mock him. Sirius didn't know what he wanted to hear, only that he wanted something.

'She'll think I only took up with her because she reminded me of you, or something equally daft.'

The question hung between them, settled on the tip of Sirius's tongue. He took a deep breath, noted the guarded expression on Remus's face, and said, 'How 'bout we go out now for that chips and lager, yeah? I'm paying.'

'Last night, you said you were skint.'

'You can't take it with you when you die,' said Sirius, standing up and brushing imaginary dust from his trousers, which were the worse for having been slept in and stank of Remus's spilled drink from last night. 'C'mon.'

They bought a baguette as well as chips, and had tea instead of the proposed lager. Because of the day's relative niceness they ate outside, chain-smoked and talked about nothing in particular. When Sirius finally stood up and said he had to go back to his own flat, Remus shrugged. 'I'll be seeing you then.'

'When?' said Sirius, feeling like an eager puppy but not giving a damn.

'Whenever you're free,' said Remus. 'Give us a call. Maybe next time we can have James pay for the drinks.'

'Or Peter, rather than have him spend all his money on his bird.'

'Clever Mr Black.'

"Lovely Mr Lupin.' And then, because he couldn't stop himself, and given that his behaviour since last night had been exemplary, Sirius reached out to touch his knuckles to the back of Remus's neck.

Remus accepted this without comment, smiling up at Sirius vaguely before saying, 'I should be going back as well.'

He stood up, the contact lost in transition, and Sirius wondered if Remus was pushing him away now, to pay him back in kind for last night.

'Later, Sirius.'

~o~

Sirius found his brother waiting for him outside his flat. Regulus was leaning against the door nonchalantly, although his eyes were nervous and alert. It wasn't a friendly neighbourhood, but the rent was cheap, and it was only a stone's throw away from St Mungo's (if the person doing the throwing was quite fit, but still).

Regulus stood up upon seeing Sirius, spine straightening to the proper posture and his hands unconsciously reaching out to tidy his hair. It wasn't that he was so keen on making a good impression, seeing as how it was only his brother, but they were raised to always show other people their best side, no matter the circumstance. Old habits never died.

'Where have you been?' said Regulus, when it became obvious that Sirius wasn't going to speak first. 'You weren't at work.'

'Around. None of your business.' Sirius fished around his coat pockets for his keys, pushing Regulus to one side so he can open the door. 'What do you want?'

'James said you'd been with Lupin.' Regulus hovered by the threshold like a lanky vampire, desperate for an invitation to enter.

'Oh, come inside before you get raped,' said Sirius. And then, with a sneer, '_James_, huh. You two are pretty close.'

'We were both in the cricket team at school.' Regulus blushed, the resulting rush of colour to his face making him appear almost healthy. But he followed Sirius down the hallway, closing the door behind him. 'Not like how it is with you and Lupin.'

'Then you _are_ shagging,' said Sirius. 'Don't tell me you came here to lecture me about my associations with Remus?'

'Well, it certainly is commendable how you still carry the torch for that swot,' said Regulus, pleasantly. 'But no. I came for tea, believe it or not.'

'A social call?' Sirius laughed. 'Does Walburga know where you are?'

'I find no reason to tell mother where I'm going all the time. I'm over twenty-one, after all.' Regulus sat down the armchair after carefully dumping assorted pieces of dirty clothing on the floor. Sirius made a mental note to do the laundry some time.

'What's up, Regulus?' said Sirius.

'Do you know that your Lupin's been seeing some of my lot? You know Sirius, I really could do with that tea.'

Sirius shrugged and obligingly went to the kitchen area, calling out, 'I didn't know the Death Eaters dealt with drugs.'

'Drugs, sex, fuck-all. It would make old mummy proud.' Regulus laughed, with an actual trace of humour. 'Who knows, Lupin and I might end up at St Mungo's one of these days. Won't you like that? For different reasons, obviously.'

'I'll have James visit you, if it ever comes to that.' Sirius measured the tea leaves into a pot before pouring the hot water in. One of these days he was going to buy tea bags and forget with the measuring nonsense, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do so yet. The little ritual of preparing tea soothed him with its familiarity, aside from the very act of drinking it. 'Walburga likes you. You've always been the favourite son.'

'Because I'm an obedient boy and never give the family grief. She likes the idea, not me.' Regulus left his armchair for the kitchen, resting his hip against the edge of the breakfast bar and watching Sirius with his teapot.

'You'll never forgive me for leaving you behind, will you?' said Sirius.

'I like you just fine, Sirius. But I'm not Lupin,' said Regulus, softly. 'I won't let you get away with bloody anything.'

'I never wanted things to happen like they did,' said Sirius, setting down the teapot on the breakfast bar and fetching a couple of cups. A search of the cupboards revealed packets of Weetabix (which would have amused Remus no end) and a dry lemon. He made another mental note, this time about shopping for necessities. Probably after he had dealt with the laundry.

'I know,' Regulus cut in his thoughts, soft voice that was disconcertingly similar to Sirius's, save for the certain roughness to Sirius's speech patterns that he had adopted long ago so he wouldn't get beaten up so badly in the streets. 'But it wasn't as if you were thinking much of anything before you tried to kill Snape.'

'He deserved what he got,' said Sirius, allowing his voice to rise only enough to give vent to his anger, but not get the neighbours banging at the walls for him to shut up.

'For not having any friends, because he was "too weird"?'

'For wanting everyone else to be miserable, because he was,' Sirius spat back. 'I never wanted Remus to be part of it. I certainly never thought he'd be expelled.'

'You used him, because it was convenient. Snape almost _died_, Sirius. Dumbledore didn't have much of a choice about the matter, did he? You got off because you're a Black, Lupin was the scapegoat.'

'Shut up. You think I haven't thought about it?' Sirius laughed. 'You think I don't know, whatever chance I had with Remus, all shot to hell because I've been stupid about some oily git?'

Regulus had the grace to look ashamed, eyes trailing down to stare at his natty snakeskin shoes. 'I'm sorry.'

'Forget it.' Sirius handed Regulus the cup, and a slice of the lemon. Contrite, Regulus made no comment about the poor state of the lemon, as he would have done otherwise. 'His habit, how bad is it?'

'Not any worse than those of the blokes I know.' Regulus took a sip of his tea, looking surprised. 'This is good.'

'Just because I live in a grot-hole doesn't mean I can't afford the finer things in life.' Sirius snorted.

They spent several minutes in silence, Sirius chewing at the cereal and enjoying the trashiness of taking it with tea. Regulus seemed lost in thought until he said, 'Lupin doesn't care about what happens to himself. That's how he can afford to be kind.'

'This is important to me how?' said Sirius.

'He took up with Tonks because she was safe. Because she wanted him more than he did her.' Regulus smiled and took out a small silver box from his trousers pocket, opening it with a flourish that would have put joy in the heart of the most enthusiastic Victorian snuff-taker. Sirius was almost disappointed to see the rather fat spliff his brother had hidden amongst his Sobranies. 'If he hates you, which I doubt, it's because with you he is selfish.'

Sirius munched on Weetabix and said nothing.

'Don't you have anything stronger?' said Regulus, taking out some matches to light his spliff with. The matchbooks had hotel names printed on them, and Sirius wondered why they looked familiar until he remembered the kid with the tattered book.

'Thought you'd never ask,' said Sirius, pulling out a bottle of whisky from the cupboard. 'Tell me, Regulus, do you happen to know someone by name of Barty Crouch?'

'He's a Death Eater, yes. Why?'

'Just asking. He was at St Mungo's yesterday.' Sirius drank straight from the bottle, watching bemusedly as Regulus wiped the mouth of it before drinking as well. At least, Sirius thought, the kid didn't ask if Sirius hadn't any glasses to drink from. There was hope for the prat yet.

'Don't trust him. He hates his parents and has no self-confidence, you know the type.'

'Has to have something to believe in?' said Sirius, smiling. 'Of course you'd know about the type.'

'Sod off,' said Regulus, blowing green-smelling smoke at Sirius's face. 'And pass the whisky.'

~o~

The next day, Sirius went to talk to the Crouch kid and tried to pay attention although it felt like something was trying to eat its way out of his head (probably one of those horrid alien things from _Dr Who_, which Remus loved to watch) and even the simple act of thinking made him want to throw up. Sirius's office was the smallest in the building: plastered walls that mottled and peeled from the damp, carpet that looked so sad Sirius rolled it up one day and set the whole thing on fire in the weedy backyard. James had given him a couple of Matisse prints to 'brighten his Dante-esque hole up' and Sirius had promptly passed them on to a more appreciative workmate. He could never stand Matisse, anyway.

'You know my brother, apparently,' said Sirius, when his headache had worsened enough that it would have been better if he smashed his skull against his desk.

'The world is smaller than we thought,' said Crouch. 'Apparently.'

'And Lupin? Do you know him as well?'

Crouch shrugged. 'Pretty bloke. Gave me a book to read when I said I was bored.'

'Oh?' said Sirius, painfully aware of the inanity of his questions. But one cannot expect someone hung over (and, to be perfectly truthful about it, still a bit pissed) to be a conversationalist of any sort, let alone of the Oscar Wilde proportions. 'This book, it doesn't happen to be the same book I saw in your bag yesterday?'

'It was.' Crouch smiled, making Sirius narrow his eyes and remember Regulus's warning. Perhaps his swot of a brother had not been talking out of his arse when he had told Sirius to be wary of Barty Crouch. 'Did you like it?'

'It was all right,' said Sirius. "Rot your brains," Remus had said.

'We only talked a few minutes,' said Crouch, 'While he was waiting for his stuff. No need to get so jealous.'

Sirius laughed softly. 'Was I that obvious?'

'You look like you can bare-handedly rip my head off my shoulders and serve it for tea.'

'I'm sure,' said Sirius, 'That the subject of my deplorable sexual predilections is an interesting one. But that's not why you're here.'

'Of course,' said Crouch, graciously. 'You want to know about my family.'

'No,' said Sirius, with the trace of a shrug. And then, thinking the better of it, 'Should I?'

Crouch opened his mouth, frowned, and decided to think about his answer before saying anything. 'People normally do,' he said, finally. 'If you want to understand myself now, you have to know where I'm coming from, isn't that how it works?'

'Why should I want to understand you?' Sirius laughed. 'I'm not a psychologist, or are they called psychiatrists? What's the difference, do you know?'

'What do you want then?' said Crouch, impatiently. Sirius allowed himself a smug mental-smile. Several seconds into the interview and he finally caught on the kid's game: the faux composure and better-than-thou attitude that Crouch used to keep people at a distance. Probably Crouch had entered Sirius's office with their conversation already scripted out in his head, starring himself as the anti-hero, the prodigy whom the world had wronged. Well, Sirius thought, sod that.

'I told you, this conversation is not about me,' said Sirius. 'Tell me what you want to do.'

'I beg-' Crouch caught himself. 'What?'

'You ran away from home,' said Sirius. 'I don't care about the details of that. Families happen to the best of us. But now that you're relatively free, what? What are you running towards?'

'Why should I head towards any particular direction?' said Crouch. 'Seems to me the problem with people is that they always have to go somewhere. No-one can really be satisfied.'

'You can always die,' said Sirius. 'If stagnation's what you want. You won't be able to see the sights if you don't move around.'

'What do you live for?' said Crouch.

Sirius looked at the kid closely, to see if Crouch meant the question, then decided that he didn't really care either way. 'I live because I'm here. Life's your own story, mate. You make it up as you go along.'

~o~

'You should have been kinder,' said Remus, when Sirius had told him of the interview. 'Idealism is never bad, at that age.'

'Idealism didn't stop us from bollocksing things up, at that age,' said Sirius, and then, 'Not you so much, actually. You'd have done well, if you'd never met me.'

Remus laughed. They were sitting side by side on the edge of the flat roof, legs dangling in the empty space, several feet of air that separated them from the pavement below. Sirius leaned back so he could look at the dusky sky, resting his palms against the gravelled floor for balance. He felt Remus's hand, the one that wasn't holding a cigarette, rest against his own.

'You should stop reading Oscar Wilde, Sirius,' said Remus, drily. 'Dramatic statements don't suit you.'

'Fact, Remus,' said Sirius. 'James used to call me _prima donna_, remember?'

'If we fall down, do you think we'll die?' said Remus, killing his cigarette against the gravel and throwing it off the edge of the roof.

'We'll probably live,' said Sirius. 'Like a couple of carrots.'

'They're good for your eyes, carrots.'

'Only James likes carrots.' Sirius made a face. 'Do you ever think of doing that?'

'What?'

'I don't know.' Sirius shrugged. 'People always have some place to escape to. Sometimes they're tangible places, but mostly it's just in your mind. People get drunk. Drunk on alcohol, music, words, sex-' he let his voice trail off, allowing several seconds of silence before adding, 'To distract themselves.'

'Sirius, if I want to be lectured about my habit, I would have gone to therapy. Don't talk like I'm one of your charges at St Mungo's.' The hand on Sirius's tensed, but did not otherwise move. Sirius took a deep breath.

'Heroin addicts sometimes take methadone, did you know?' said Sirius. 'When they're kicking.'

'What are you saying?' said Remus, allowing a trace of testiness to his tone.

'It takes a different addiction to fight addiction.'

'And? You'd rather I was a dipsomaniac or something?'

Sirius straightened up, moving close enough to Remus that he can see the green flecks in Remus's eyes. Sometimes, under certain lights and moods, they looked almost hazel and like a cat's. In Remus's peaky boy-face, they were too large. Waif-eyes. Dilated pupils.

'Me,' said Sirius. 'Be addicted to me.'

Remus looked at Sirius as if he had just said he believed in Fundamentalism; surprise, disbelief, knowing little smile, and 'Don't be daft'.

'No,' said Sirius. 'That's the point. I've been too daft, or not enough.'

Remus said nothing, keeping his eyelids half-lowered as he looked at his lap.

'When you broke up with Tonks, you've thought about it,' said Sirius, aware that he was pushing his luck, one wrong word that may kill whatever lingering affection Remus had for him. But then again, he had played safe the last few years and look where that got him. People often conspired against themselves towards their own destruction.

'We're not randy schoolboys anymore, Sirius,' said Remus, finally. He was never one to be slow about voicing his opinions, but now he was talking as if each word had to be weighed carefully. 'You know what they say about such affairs, it's something that boys share, at a certain age. Experimenting, curiosity, the onset of puberty. It's never supposed to continue. Eventually, the real world intrudes and you realise that there are women out there. Women that you're supposed to want.'

'I've tried all that,' said Sirius. 'You know I wonder why, in the movies, people smoke after having sex. There's that thing Oscar Wilde says about cigarettes-'

'You and Oscar Wilde,' said Remus. 'Should I be jealous?'

'I'm talking about this line, from _Dorian Gray_, I think,' said Sirius. 'Shut up a moment.'

'"A cigarette is the perfect type of perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied",' said Remus. 'Was that it?'

'You tease me about Wilde, and you can quote from him verbatim,' said Sirius. 'But you have to think about it. Why do people smoke after shagging? Because smoking a fag is just like having _le petite morte_. Desire rises, peaks, and you enjoy it. Afterwards, though, you think about it. What's the point? Was it all worth it?'

'What's the point of anything, mate? You said it yourself; smut is smut. It's mere procreation. End of the story.'

'And now you're saying that people shag to reproduce. What makes us different from animals?' Sirius laughed. 'What will Reynard Foxglove and his folks say, to hear you say that. Tumescent cocks and willing pussies don't make for erotic stories. It's human nature that does that. Human emotions that make a simple act of mating complex, titillating, forbidden, fuck-all.'

Remus opened his mouth, quite possibly to argue for the sake of arguing. Sirius had the idea that Remus agreed with him on more than one point, but was never loathe to liven the conversation up by pretending otherwise. Sirius cut him off, 'My point is, well, sex is all well and good. But most of those people, they're cigarettes.'

Remus sighed. 'I want to believe you, you know.'

Sirius smiled, leaned over to press his lips against Remus's forehead. 'That's a start.'

~o~

The flea-market clock on Sirius's bedside table told him that it was 4:25 in the morning when James phoned. James sounding more quiet and sober than Sirius could remember him being, since their discovery of booze in their early teens, 'There's been some trouble with the Death Eaters, have you heard?'

Sirius, who had been rubbing furiously at his eyes and trying not to slam the receiver back in its cradle, suddenly found himself fully awake and full of dread. 'What happened?'

'Dunno the particulars yet,' said James. 'There's been a lot of conflict within their ranks since those Phoenix fellows did for Tom Riddle a couple of months back, do you remember?'

'Yeah,' said Sirius. No-one quite knew what had happened to the Death Eaters leader when he disappeared two months ago, but the word among the other gangs was that people were better off not knowing.

'Well, Peter says there's been some disagreement as to who's going to replace him. Some of them were all for your cousin, you know, Bellatrix,' James paused long enough to allow Sirius say, 'The bitch' before going on, 'But Bellatrix herself believes that Riddle's still alive and can come back anytime. They sort of formed loose factions over that: those who still held Riddle as their leader, and those who thought they should move on. It didn't make for congenial meetings.'

'So now they've blown each other up?' said Sirius, fighting the sudden urge to laugh.

'More or less,' said James. 'The lot's been brought over the hospital, and Lily says probably some of them won't make it.'

Lily was a nurse, and it never ceased to amaze Sirius that James had managed to pull a girl like her. She was a far cry from the other flashier birds James used to date. And very pretty. "Lucky dog," Remus had called James, one time, and Sirius had given Lily Evans much thought since, weighing her considerable charms against his own. The memory of it made him grimace in half-shame. What a school girl.

He pulled himself from wool-gathering and finally asked the question he's been putting off since the start of their conversation. 'And Regulus?'

'Hurt a bit, but Lily reckons he'll be fine. Your mum's staying with him, so he can't ask you to come,' said James. 'He says to tell you, though, that Barty Crouch's dead.'

'Crouch,' said Sirius, stupidly.

'That's the kid from St Mungo's, isn't he?' said James.

Sirius grunted assent, and James said, 'I'm sorry, mate.'

~o~

'Who was that?' said Remus, when Sirius got back to bed.

'James,' he said. 'Budge up.'

Remus waited for Sirius to get settled in next to him before tucking the bed covers around both of them. 'What did he want?'

'Regulus was hurt. There was some trouble with the Death Eaters,' said Sirius, moving so that he was facing Remus, letting Remus hold him.

'I'm sorry.'

'It wasn't anything critical. But he wanted me to know that Crouch didn't make it.' Sirius felt his lips thin into a line, although due to what emotion, he had no idea. Wrapped in Remus's arms, it hardly seemed to matter. Crouch and his despair something far away, and ultimately a reality he could do nothing about. 'Daft way to die, if you ask me.'

'At least he didn't kill himself,' said Remus, in a manner that surprised Sirius. Usually, Remus was more sympathetic about the troubles of others, seeing as how he's had more than his share of that himself. But Crouch was exactly of the sort that Remus had little patience for. Regulus had been right about him: Crouch did need someone to believe in.

'At least he died for that,' said Sirius.

'For what, the defence of Tom Riddle? Don't try to kid yourself, Sirius. It _is_ a daft way to die, you said it yourself.'

'Don't be unkind,' said Sirius, touching a finger to Remus's lips, right where they dipped in the middle, to see if they were really as soft as they looked, the way he remembered. 'It might seem daft to us, his belief in their leader, if that's what he died for. But for him, it was worth it.'

'You hope that it was worth it,' said Remus. 'And that he thought so. Because otherwise, you cannot bear the thought of it.'

'Must you always be so argumentative?'

'You'll tire of me, if I agreed with everything you say.'

'Mm,' said Sirius, nuzzling Remus's neck and listening to the low rumbling of his voice that was almost a purr. 'I don't know about that.'

Remus's hand travelled down Sirius's belly, between his legs. 'Randy bastard.'

Sirius laughed. 'If I have to wake up at four in the bloody morning, it better be due to a reason other than listening to James tell me news of his boyfriend.'

'I always knew you were just using me,' said Remus, with a smile. And Sirius had almost forgotten that dimple Remus had on his left cheek, and how he looked adorable and innocent and plain mental because of that twin-less little mark.

'You know, Lupin,' said Sirius. 'I've never been one to say no to a nice, good banter. But there are things I'd rather be doing.'

'Start, for fuck's sake. We can always do the banter in between.'

~o~

Crouch's funeral was a discreet affair. Sirius attended with a bandaged and cane-wielding Regulus, both of them standing at the very edge of the crowd and silently suffering in their black suits. Most of the people there were family members, although a few Death Eaters of the same persuasion as Crouch himself made an appearance as inconspicuous as Sirius and Regulus'.

'Well, at least they haven't left their manners where they've forgotten their brains,' said Regulus.

'What happened back there, Regulus?' said Sirius, forgetting himself for a moment and allowing his hand to move and adjust his collar. Regulus eyed him beadily, looking unnervingly like Walburga, and Sirius made to cough behind his raised hand instead.

'Don't fidget, Sirius Orion,' said Regulus, with a trace of a smile.

'Bugger off, _Regulus Arcturus_. Answer the question.'

'I've already told James what I knew of the matter. I don't buy into politics, you know that.' Regulus sounded disgusted, although he was talking too softly for Sirius to be sure about that.

'You got your share of the beating, nevertheless,' observed Sirius.

'They were maddened,' said Regulus, with a shrug. 'In a mob, it doesn't matter who you are, what you believe in, if they're out for blood.'

'You talk like him, you know,' said Sirius. 'Crouch.'

Regulus laughed. 'Your Lupin's worse than I am, and you never noticed? Don't worry, Sirius, I'm too much of a bastard to pop my clogs and make you happy yet. And Lupin, well, he has you fellows, doesn't he?'

'You're going to ask how things are with me and Remus,' Sirius guessed.

'What else?'

'What if I'm not strong enough?' Sirius looked at his shoes, the drying brown grass crushed under the dusty soles, and he thought of the walk that waited for him, paths and streets to his own flat, where Remus was waiting. "Whatever the fuck for?" Remus had said, when Sirius asked if he was coming to Crouch's funeral.

"Well, you've talked to him before."

"I don't have time for funerals, Sirius. And I don't own anything worth wearing to such events, anyway." Remus laughed. "Tell me, did Crouch tell you it was me who gave him that book?"

"You're Reynard Foxglove, aren't you?" said Sirius.

Remus looked at him thoughtfully, closed expression on his face that almost always managed to turn Sirius on, smug assurance that he was one of the few (very few) people who can make Remus lose that carefully constructed mask that he had retreated behind, against the prying of other people. ("Such a well-mannered young man, however can he do such a thing?")

"Yes," said Remus, finally.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Remus spread out his hands, looked at them instead of Sirius's eyes. "Because I was scared. Not about the smut. That was all right. I don't care about that. But the emptiness, it was too great. Screaming, echoes of it, in every word I write. I saw the same thing in Crouch's eyes. It was a fucking book of erotic stories, for fuck's sake. And it was depressing."

"But they were your words, and they conveyed some truth." Sirius sat down the arm chair, next to Remus, although there was really only enough room for one person. Like that, they were one, melded together. "Dammit, Remus."

"How can I tell you? You were running on empty yourself." Remus laughed, drily, sound like leaves blown away by the wind.

"Look," said Sirius, smiling. "I can't say I have much of me left, you always said I was crazy. But you don't have to empty on your own."

"You, you," said Remus, but he was smiling too, and Sirius kissed him, held him closer. "You _are_ off your rocker. Completely bonkers. Utterly mental."

"Sanity is overrated," said Sirius. "Who fucking cares about that? It's boring."

'I think,' said Regulus, after waiting in patient silence as Sirius followed his own train of thought, 'I think that you've decided the answer to that, on your own.'

'Which means?'

'It means that you should give Lupin enough credit, to be strong when you're not. It's not about completing each other, Sirius. It's about complementing each other.' Regulus tilted his head to one side. 'Really, what will you do without me?'

Sirius snorted. 'If this was a story, you're just the voice box. The author's conceit, to make things easier to understand. Convenient, and utterly contrived.'

'Fuck off.' Regulus looked over the people gathered around the dry patch of ground that was to be Crouch's final resting place, all of them in black, like over-sized crows. A murder of people. 'I could use a bottle of cold beer right now, how about you?'

'Beer sounds good,' said Sirius.


End file.
